


Our Choices Define Us

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Not Evil Harry, F/M, Gray Harry, M/M, Necromancy, No Horcruxes, POTTERS LIVE, Political Harry, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Ravenclaw Harry, Sane Voldemort, Slow Burn, Smart Harry, Tags May Change, Voldemort didn't act on the prophecy, rating may increase, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: What if a saner Voldemort, wary of a plot by Dumbledore, heard the prophecy and decided to assume a wait and see approach instead of leaping to action?Growing up as the son of two dedicated Order members who seem to care more about their war than their children, Harry becomes his sister's protector and nothing will ever stand between them. Not their parents' blind devotion to a vigilante with an overinflated sense of self importance and not a Dark Lord bent on slaughtering his way to complete dominance of Britain.This is a Work In Progress. It is not finished. It may never be finished. Updates will be sporadic. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Marcus Flint/Harry Potter
Series: W.I.P. Collection [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/398941
Comments: 165
Kudos: 1011





	1. Chapter 1

**30 August 1985**

Harry knelt in the chair next to his new baby sister’s bed and let her hold his finger inside her tiny hand. She was born ten days ago and the first time Harry had seen her, he’d known that he would keep her safe. He was a big brother and he knew that meant it was his job to take care of her. Daddy had said so when he’d told Harry that he was going to be a big brother.

Mum and dad were in bed now and Harry knew that he was supposed to be as well, but he’d woken during the night and he’d had to see her again. She was so unbelievably tiny. She’d been fussing when he’d walked into the room, but she’d quieted once he’d touched her hand. She’d latched on and he felt a strange sort of swooping sensation go through him. He thought it was his magic trying to sooth her. Mum and dad said magic was important for babies and it was why they needed to be held so much. Because the magic of their family helped their own magic grow. Or something like that. He wasn’t sure. But he wanted to help her, so he held on. Even when his eyes grew droopy and his mind fuzzy.

He startled awake when he felt Acacia’s hand slip away from his own and he realized that daddy was picking him up. “No,” he started to complain, but his dad shushed him.

“Acacia needs some milk, and you need your bed, Mister. No more sneaking in here during the night, even if your mum did appreciate a little extra sleep.”

Harry did want to complain more, but he was so tired. He laid his head on his dad’s shoulder and he was sleeping again.

* * *

**1 September 1991**

“Please don’t go,” Acacia’s frightened whisper broke Harry’s heart. His baby sister was his world. He’d spent more time caring for her since she was born than their parents had. Not so much right in the beginning, of course, because they’d both been too young. The older they both got though, the more their parents seemed to decide they could ignore them. Everything revolved around The War and The Order and “Albus Says” or “Albus Wants”.

Harry didn’t understand why any of that was more important than them, but he’d learned early and well that questioning any of it was a Bad Idea. Mum and dad would get very frustrated and go on extremely long rants about things that didn’t really make sense to Harry but generally boiled down to, “the Dark is evil so we have to fight them” and “Albus believes [insert belief here] and he knows best, so…”. It was overall infuriating to Harry. He just wished he and Acacia could be even close to as important to his parents as Albus Dumbledore and his war were.

He gently carded his fingers through his sister’s hair and kissed her forehead, letting his magic soak into her as he did. She’d climbed into his bed late last night, as she often did when she was upset and needed comfort. He didn’t blame her for being upset today. He wasn’t any too thrilled to be leaving her here alone either. Since she was born, he’d done everything in his power to take care of her. By the time he turned six, he’d learned to let his magic leak out of him to soothe her and help her magic to stabilize. He’d taught her to read and write long before their parents had sent her to muggle school. He’d taught her how to find her magic and pull on it to do small feats of wandless magic. What their parents had seen of it they’d assumed to be accidental magic only and Harry and Acacia had never corrected them.

They kept a lot of secrets from their parents. Such as the fact that neither of them cared about what Albus Dumbledore wanted or what happened with the war.

“I wish I could stay,” he sighed, “but I have to go to school.”

She whimpered slightly and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I’ll write to you every day,” he promised.

“Really?” she looked up at him hopefully.

“Really,” he affirmed, tapping his index finger lightly against the tip of her nose. She wrinkled it in response and he smiled at how adorable it was. “And I’ll tell you so much about what I’m learning and the other students that you’ll feel like you’re there with me.”

She hugged him tighter and buried her face in his shoulder again.

He held her and they talked quietly until Lily called them for breakfast.

* * *

“ _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin_ ,” Harry chanted in his mind as the Hat was lowered onto his head.

“ _Not Slytherin, eh?_ ” the Hat spoke into his mind. “ _Are you sure? You could be great, you know? Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness._ ”

“ _Not Slytherin_ ,” Harry repeated fervently. He’d been afraid of this for years if he was honest with himself. He knew perfectly well that he had more than a few Slytherin traits. He’d done his best to conceal them from his parents, well aware of the fact that the majority of Voldemort’s followers were Slytherins. Knowing his parents, he wouldn’t be surprised if they pulled him out of Hogwarts and sent him to Beauxbatons or something before they let him remain in Slytherin. 

“ _You_ _’d make true friends in Slytherin,_ ” the Hat cajoled.

“ _Not Slytherin_ ,” Harry begged yet again. He couldn’t afford to be friends with Slytherins. His parents wouldn’t allow it.

“ _Well, if you_ _’re sure_ ,” the Hat said dubiously.

“ _I_ _’m sure_ ,” Harry promised.

“ _Very well. Then I suppose it better be_ _…_ RAVENCLAW!”

Doing his best to conceal his monumental relief, Harry gave a slight smile and picked his way down to the applauding table. He’d been stressing out about his Sorting for months now. He’d been terrified that the Hat would put him in Slytherin without listening to reason. He didn’t even want to think about how his parents would react to that.

Oh, Mum was friends with Severus, and he’d been a Slytherin, but Harry knew perfectly well that she was friends with him in spite of that fact, not regardless of it. He didn’t doubt that his parents would love him just as much if he’d been Sorted Slytherin, but he knew they’d always be watching him for fear that he’d spontaneously turn Dark. The same way Dad and Uncle Siri watched Severus, never convinced that he wasn’t actually spying on the Light for Voldemort. He doubted that he’d be permitted to have any Slytherin friends no matter how well he got on with them. Bad influences, Mum would say. Future Death Eaters, Dad would call them. 

No. He was much better off in Ravenclaw.

He was glad, though, that he hadn’t ended up in Gryffindor with Ron. He and Ron had never gotten along and Harry suspected that he wouldn’t find the rest of Gryffindor House that much more pleasant. And the Hufflepuffs were too clingy from what he’d heard Dora say over the years. She always said they were all like her brothers and sisters. She liked some better than others, but they were a tight knit group. Ravenclaw sounded much better from the stories Aunt Alice had told.

Harry thought the feast that night was proof of his thoughts about the Houses. He didn’t spend much time watching the Snakes because he didn’t doubt they’d notice and get suspicious, but he did notice they were quiet and refined in their manners while subtly looking down on anyone less refined. The Lions were as noisy as he’d expect, having Gryffindor parents and honorary uncles. The Badgers were all warm smiles and friendly bumping of shoulders. The Eagles around him talked quietly and the prefects told them about classes and professors while the new first years asked a multitude of questions. They talked amongst themselves somewhat, but no one really bothered Harry after his first few brief responses made it clear he wasn’t feeling talkative.

Yes, Ravenclaw would be okay, he decided. He’d have to write Acacia about it all as soon as he got to his dorm room. She’d love to hear about all of it, he was sure.

He still felt terribly guilty for having left her in that house alone, but he knew that he hadn’t really had a choice. He would keep to his promise though. A letter every day, even if only a short one.

* * *

**13 August 1994**

Harry looked across the dining table at his sister’s silent form. She was nearly ten now. Every time he came home from school for each break she seemed quieter and more withdrawn than the last. She’d open up some when they were in the privacy of his rooms together, but nothing like she used to be. He knew it was the fault of their parents.

They were so focused on their thrice damned war that they had no time for their lonely daughter. He was equally glad that she had only one year left before starting Hogwarts and devastated that she’d spend another year alone in this house. For that’s what she was when he was at Hogwarts. Alone. Their parents both worked full time jobs and then spent as many hours or more on super secret whatever for Dumbledore. If not for the house-elves, he didn’t think Acacia would even get food regularly.

He worried for her constantly while he was at Hogwarts and he needed her daily letters as much as she did his. And now with what had happened to the Prewetts…

“I can’t believe this!” dad ranted as he and mum entered the dining room together. Dad had just gotten back from the Wizengamot. “I’ve been saying that he’s already got half of them in his pocket, but I was wrong! They’re definitely in the majority now!” He dropped himself into the chair at the head of the table and buried his face in his hands.

Harry and Acacia exchanged a look over the table, her bright green eyes as clouded with wariness as he knew his own must be. When mum and dad got like this, there was nothing to do but be as quiet and still as possible and try to stay out of it. They wouldn’t actually hurt their children, of course, but they could get worryingly passionate in their rants.

“James,” Mum said as she took her seat next to Dad, “which one was it?”

Harry knew there were three bills that the so-called Light was vehemently against passing this session.

“Which one?” James looked up to ask with a bitter sneer. “All of them.”

Lily gasped.

Harry pinched his lips together to keep from smiling. He couldn’t help it. He’d been silently and very secretly hoping they would pass. Though he knew better than to ever say anything aloud as it may eventually get back to his parents, Harry considered himself a Conservative, maybe even Dark. Oh, he didn’t necessarily agree with Voldemort. The man was entirely too quick to kill and maim everyone in his way and their families, but that didn’t mean that the Dark didn’t have some really good ideas. He was perfectly well aware of the three bills that the Light had been fighting. 

One was meant to introduce muggleborns to the wizarding world earlier. That, of course, wasn’t the objection the Light had to the bill. They objected to the part of the bill that stipulated magical oaths binding the muggleborn families to make it impossible for them to impart knowledge of the magical world to any other muggle that didn’t already know. Dumbledore didn’t think it was “right” to magically bind poor, helpless muggles against their will.

It also went together with the second proposed bill, which would create a magical preschool that would be mandatory for all magical children growing up in the muggle world, even those with magical parents. The idea was that they wouldn’t necessarily learn what they needed to know about the magical world if they weren’t living in it. Worse, his parents claimed that this was just a stepping-stone to a bill that would allow muggleborns to be removed from their muggle families entirely if there was any suspicion of abuse. The Light thought that stipulation would be used to remove children on the flimsiest of evidence. Harry thought it was about time someone protected the kids with abusive muggle relatives. Terry Boot always came back from summer break with bruises and flinching at everything, but the Light-blind ministry had no provision to protect kids like him.

The last bill had been to remove some of the restrictions on werewolf and vampire residents. The Light claimed that, while the idea was a good one, the proposed bill would just empower the creature members of Voldemort’s following. Harry had never thought it was fair that they judged all creatures by the most violent of their number. While they were at it, they might as well judge all wizards by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Just because they _could be_ just as bad didn’t mean that they would be. And the Light ignored the fact that so many of the creatures they mistrusted were turned as children and pushed into siding with the Dark because the Light barely tolerated them. Like the rarely mentioned Remus, whom Harry had gathered had been friends with dad during school, then they pushed him away afterward for fear he was a spy just because he was a werewolf.

Yes, Harry was quite pleased to hear that the bills had passed, but it really wouldn’t do to let either of his parents catch onto that fact.

“And not just the Darks and the Neutrals,” Dad continued bitterly, “Seats that have been Light for generations are suddenly voting in line with Lucius bloody Malfoy. Damn _cowards_!”

“Language, James,” Mum admonished, though it was clear her heart wasn’t in it.

“Adam Brown was a _Gryffindor_ , for Merlin’s sake!” Dad continued to rant. “I can’t believe he could be so cowardly as to respond like this to Voldemort’s threats!”

“Threats?!” Harry couldn’t help but exclaim. “He wiped out the entire Prewett line! Including the babies, for Merlin’s sake!” He _really_ didn’t agree with that, but he couldn’t deny it was effective. It wasn’t even two months ago the Prewetts had been killed. Both of Mrs. Weasley’s older brothers, their wives, and the five children they had between them. They were a warning to the rest of the Blood Traitors. Fall in line or you could be next.

“That is exactly the attitude that is going to lose us this war!” Dad exploded, surging out of his chair and pointing a finger harshly in Harry’s face. “One after another the Light families are falling into line because they’re too scared to take risks! They’re too afraid to fight!”

“Is it really worth seeing your whole family murdered?!” Harry demanded, unable to back down as he knew he should. He never should have opened his mouth with Dad in such a mood, but he was so tired of biting his tongue. He was so afraid Acacia would be killed for their parents’ allegiances.

“Harry!” Mum chastised, but Dad ignored her and went right on.

“Is what worth it? Freedom? The right to marry for love rather than station?” he waved vaguely toward Mum. “The right to believe what you feel is right rather than what ‘traditionalists’ think is right?!”

“That’s what you’re fighting for?” Harry demanded incredulously. “What the hell do you think the other side is fighting for except the exact same thing? Those are the very things the Light you so adore has been denying to those they deem ‘dark’ for the last three hundred years!”

Dad looked like Harry had just kicked him in the gut. Mum had gone very pale and was staring at him in utter disbelief. Harry’s little sister Acacia mostly just looked frightened. She really wasn’t used to Harry raising his voice because it almost never happened. He was generally more inclined toward rational arguments or plotting behind someone’s back than getting into a shouting match.

“Where the Hell did you hear that?!” Dad all but screamed at him. “Have you been talking to Slytherins?” He said Slytherins like it was a dirty word or something.

“Of course not!” Harry snapped because he knew better than that. Having taken the Hat’s warning to heart, he’d kept well away from all Slytherins to whom he might develop a dangerous attachment. “But I _am_ a Ravenclaw, if you’ll recall. I’ve done my research. In the last three hundred years, there have been two hundred sixty-eight bills passed which in some way restrict the ‘dark’ from the very rights and freedoms you claim to hold in such regard! Dark creatures, of course, have it the worst.”

“They’re dangerous!” Dad spat.

“SO ARE YOU!” Harry shouted immediately. “Everyone with magic is dangerous! What’s next in our quest to keep the peace, huh? Should we stop teaching Defense because those spells can be dangerous? How about we just take away wands altogether and then we can be as completely harmless as the Muggles. Except — oh, wait! — they manage to be dangerous even without magic. I know! Perhaps we can all just commit mass suicide and then the danger will be well and truly gone!”

“Harald James Potter, you go to your room this instant!” Mum snapped.

Harry actually thought that was the best idea he’d heard all day. He really needed to get out of here before he dug himself any deeper. He shoved away from the table and stormed out of the room without another word.

* * *

Harry remained in his room the rest of the night and neither of his parents disturbed him. Shortly after Acacia’s bedtime though, she slipped almost silently into his room and crawled onto the bed, cuddling in next to him where he’d been lying on top the covers and staring at the canopy. He automatically wrapped an arm around her. 

“Mum and Dad are really mad,” she said after a long moment of silence.

Harry nodded and kissed the top of her head, “Yeah, I know.”

“Why did you say all that?” she whispered.

He heaved a heavy sigh, “I shouldn’t have.” Before starting Hogwarts, he hadn’t much cared either way about politics beyond how it negatively impacted his family. After starting Hogwarts, however, he’d had more chance to learn about politics and exposure to kids of all backgrounds, and he’d started to realize that the principles of the Light were rather hypocritical. The war frightened him, but it was hard for him to ignore the injustice surrounding him.

And from what he could see, the Light were the oppressors. The Dark were the freedom fighters in this equation. He didn’t like their methods and he was terrified his family would become casualties of this war, but he couldn’t outright hate them. Not given what they were fighting for.

“I know better than that,” he admitted. “I just… get so tired of listening to them preach how the Light is everything right and good in the world while they just ignore the oppression upon which their ivory tower was built. They only think about themselves and others like them. They don’t care anything about the rest of the world, and it’s _wrong_.”

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to _say_ it,” Acacia whispered after a moment, and her tone was chastising. 

Acacia would be very lucky to avoid ending up in Slytherin if she kept going like she was.

“Yeah, I know,” he grimaced. “I suppose with two Gryffindor parents it was inevitable something would rub off, huh?”

She giggled quietly, a sound he treasured above all others, especially given how rare it had become in recent years. “You’d better be ready to plead insanity tomorrow. I think it’s your only shot.”

He lifted his head to give her an incredulous look. “‘Plead insanity’? Where on Earth do you hear these things?” The wizarding world had no such concept. There was extenuating circumstances, but not insanity as a defense for committing a crime.

“Mum’s muggle novels,” she shrugged just her one shoulder as she was lying on the other.

“Are you supposed to be reading those?” Harry wondered. “Aren’t they a little old for you?”

“Oh, please,” Acacia scoffed. “She puts them on a shelf I can’t reach in the library. Like I haven’t had a basic levitation charm down for years now.”

Harry smiled to himself at that. It was the first spell he’d ever learned — when he was just six — and he’d taught it to his little sister. She’d never had quite the skill for wandless magic that Harry did but she’d figured it out. “That’s my girl,” he chuckled. He knew they’d have to talk about her avoiding Slytherin, but not just yet. She had some time yet before she needed to worry about such a thing, and he suspected she’d figure it out on her own as he had.

* * *

Come morning, Harry contritely explained to his parents that he was just afraid of their family ending up like the Prewetts. Hugs were exchanged, meaningless platitudes delivered, and life went on.

* * *

**31 October 1994**

“And the champion for Hogwarts is,” Dumbledore picked the slightly charred slip of parchment out of the air and looked at it. He was silent for a long moment before he called out, “Harry Potter!”

Every face in the Great Hall turned to look at him and it took Harry a long moment to comprehend what had just happened. There were two important problems with the situation. One: Only of-age students were to be allowed to compete and Harry was only fourteen. Two: Even if he had been of-age, Harry would not have put his name in the goblet and he certainly had not done so.

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore called again, this time sounding a little unhappy.

Harry stood slowly, but made no move to go anywhere. “I didn’t enter my name,” he complained, his voice easily carrying across the silent Hall.

“Join the other champions, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore pointed toward it.

“But I don’t want to compete,” Harry persisted. “Can’t I recuse myself?”

There were some gasps in response to this, which wasn’t surprising considering how many people had been dying to risk their lives for fame and fortune — bloody idiots.

“No, Mr. Potter, you cannot,” Dumbledore replied impatiently. “Please join the other champions and this can be discussed privately.”

Harry thought about continuing to argue, but he supposed antagonizing the headmaster was unlikely to help his cause. If, indeed, anything could at this point.

Face set in a displeased frown, Harry walked stiffly across the Hall and into the room where the other champions waited.

Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour stared at him in shock when he entered. “You can’t be the Hogwarts Champion,” Krum said incredulously.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Harry replied stiffly.

“Your name was called?” Delacour inquired uncertainly.

“Yes,” Harry ground out. “And I did not enter.”

Before anymore could be said, they all looked to the door as Neville Longbottom stepped inside looking deathly pale.

“What eez eet?” Delacour asked him. “Do zey need us back out zere?”

Neville just stared at them all like he wasn’t really seeing them and then Dumbledore entered the room, accompanied the other concerned adults. 

Before Harry could say anything, Madam Maxime and Master Karkaroff were complaining about Hogwarts having two champions.

Harry watched in bewilderment as Dumbledore grilled Neville about whether he’d entered himself, which seemed pretty damn obvious to Harry. The boy was clearly shocked and terrified.

Eventually, Harry managed to assert, “Headmaster, Mr. Crouch, I do not wish to compete in this tournament. I did not enter my name. Surely such a thing cannot be compulsory.”

Dumbledore sighed and looked to Bartemius Crouch, “What do the rules state, Barty?” he inquired.

“His name came out of the goblet, he must compete,” Crouch insisted. He cleared his throat and added, “Both of them.”

Harry clenched his jaw momentarily and worked to keep his temper. “How is it possible that someone else entered my name?” he demanded.

Dumbledore hesitated a moment before admitting. “In times past, it was common for the champions to be nominated by their peers,” he explained.

“You’re telling me that literally anyone in the school over the age of seventeen could have placed my name in that goblet, and done so without even breaking any rules?” Harry asked incredulously.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore nodded. 

Harry stared in silent disbelief for a moment before exclaiming, “This is unbelievable! What was the point in the age restriction at all when anyone could have entered their least favorite first year!”

“It was highly unlikely that anyone underage would be entered as everyone wanted to win the spot themselves. Furthermore,” Crouch droned pedantically, “the cup will only choose the most eligible of each school, which made it even more unlikely that anyone underage would be the most eligible for their school.”

“I’m fourteen!” Harry snapped.

“Which makes it all the more impressive that you’ve beaten out your competition, Mr. Potter, but not greatly surprising. You are the top student in your year three years running,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“What about Neville?” Harry exclaimed furiously, waving a hand toward the still pale boy watching it all silently. Neville was an average student outside herbology, he’d never been exceptional. “Why are there even two champions for Hogwarts?”

That set off another round of complaints from the foreign headmasters that Dumbledore and Crouch deflected with much blustering about their innocence and ignorance and helplessness in the situation.

“This tournament was to be restricted to of-age students,” Harry pointed out when he managed to get a word in again. “Doesn’t that make me and Neville ineligible?”

“Unfortunately,” Crouch gruffly interceded, “the magic of the goblet is several hundred years old. The rule regarding the age of the participants is new this year. It doesn’t affect the binding magic invoked by your selection. I’m afraid you have no choice Mr. Potter. You must either compete in the tournament or risk the loss of your magic.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment, but he could find no flaw in that logic despite how he wished he could. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “I see that I have no choice. For the record, however, I would like to state that the arrangement of this tournament was poorly conceived to have been so easily overcome not once but _twice_. I will be speaking with my father about lodging a formal complaint.” Not that he expected it to go very far. Dumbledore would preen any of Dad’s feathers that Harry managed to ruffle and he’d probably end up telling Harry about how he really should recognize this for the opportunity that it was. Neville’s parents were Order members too, so he’d probably end up the same.

Merlin, life could be bloody unfair.

* * *

**24 June 1995**

Harry gripped the handle of the cup and felt the pull of the portkey for just a moment before he was deposited in the Winner’s Circle waiting outside the maze.

Bagman announced his victory and the crowds went wild cheering a Hogwarts victory. 

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t like it was bloody difficult. Delacour was a very by-the-book witch. She played to her strengths with a textbook simplicity that was redundant and unimpressive. Krum wielded his magic like a hammer — all brute force and no finesse. Neville had been his closest competition. The Hufflepuff had used a seed and a surprisingly effective growth charm to distract the dragon while he sneaked around to snatch up his egg, then a ridiculously simple application of gillyweed to conquer the lake. In the maze, Harry suspected he’d been communicating with the hedges of the maze to find his way. If he’d been half a minute quicker, Harry’d not have won.

He did find it interesting, however, that the tournament allegedly existed to determine which of the three school was superior and he and Neville had done so well each using skills that they most certainly could not credit to their Hogwarts’ education.

Harry’s greatest strength was his skill with spellcrafting. He’d been creating his own spells since the first term of his third year. That skill had given him a versatility that none of the other champions had had and it had seen him entering the maze with a head start and walking through it like he had a map.

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d had.

Occlumency was very useful in helping memory retention, which made it a common skill among Ravenclaws. The study of that had led him to Legilimency. He was by no means exceptional at that skill, but with someone who’s mind was as utterly unprotected as Bagman, Harry had had no difficulty lifting his knowledge of the tasks right from his mind just weeks after being chosen as Champion. He’d needed only to ask the man some innocent questions about the tasks to drag his knowledge to the forefront of his mind. It had given him the ability to spend months preparing for a task they weren’t meant to know until one month prior.

All-in-all, it had been rather easy for him to win this tournament. He’d had half a mind to deliberately do terribly just to spite them for choosing him. And he might have done had he been the only Hogwarts champion. Might make them try harder to protect people who didn’t want to participate if it made them look ridiculous. He just hadn’t been able to handle the idea of losing to Neville. He’d known the boy all his life thanks to their status as godbrothers, but they’d never really been more than friendly. Despite being the same age, they’d never quite been on the same level. Harry had been teaching himself to read while Neville was still unable to color within the lines. Then Acacia had come along and Harry hadn’t had time for anyone else as he took so much of her care on his shoulders.

Harry shook hands with many people as the crowd continued to cheer him. He endured hugs from both his parents before Acacia made her way to him and he dropped the stupid cup in order to pull his baby sister into a proper hug. “Knew you’d win,” she whispered into his ear and he felt a real smile curl his lips.

* * *

**4 July 1995**

A loud, hollow boom accompanied the sudden almost painful contraction and release of magic. Harry startled awake, throwing himself out of bed a moment later when he realized there was only one explanation. The wards around Potter Manor had fallen.

Snatching his wand from his bedside table, Harry sprinted out of his bedroom, across his sitting room, and down the corridor to Acacia’s room. He found her standing uncertainly in the doorway to her bedroom, nightgown rumbled, long black hair a mess. “Harry, what’s happening?” she whimpered fearfully when she saw him.

Harry didn’t doubt for a second that this was the attack he’d been dreading since the demise of the Prewetts the previous summer. Mum and dad had refused to back down or waver in their support of Dumbledore in the last year and now they were to pay for it.

The Prewetts had died shortly after Hogwarts let out as well.

He couldn’t say any of that to Acacia, of course. The poor kid was scared enough as it was, though he suspected she may have an idea.

“We have to get out of here,” he said instead, hurrying forward to grasp her hand in his free one and rushing back to the corridor. There was a servants’ entrance from the kitchen. If any of the doors were to be unguarded, that was the most likely.

Unfortunately, getting from the family wing to the kitchen required going through the main part of the house.

“Be very quiet,” he warned Acacia in a soft whisper.

She nodded fearfully and pressed her free hand to her mouth.

Harry cut through the dining room, almost holding his breath as he tried to be both fast and silent. The sounds of fighting weren’t far off now. Shouted incantations. The hiss and sizzle of aggressive spells. Loud crashes. Screams of pain and exclamations of anger.

They had nearly made it through to the servant hall when Harry’s mind suddenly exploded in pain. A million thoughts impressed themselves on his mind, leaving him unable to comprehend any of them. His magic flared and writhed violently, utterly beyond his control.

An eternity of confusion and pain and writhing magic eventually faded enough for him to realize he was on his hands and knees on the floor, his sister crouched at his side.

The family magic had just transferred to him. Dad was dead and he’d just become Lord Potter.

A strident crack snapped his mind fully back to his surroundings as the main doors of the dining room blasted open and spellfire preceded his mum backing into the room dueling three masked death eaters.

Harry swiftly snatched up his fallen wand and lurched to his feet, drawing Acacia fully behind his body while he lifted his strongest shield. With the spells flying around the room, he didn’t dare try to move. Perhaps if he’d been alone he’d have risked it, but not with his sister behind him. He’d rather try to talk his way out.

Harry wasn’t some distant Ravenclaw ignorant of the dangers of the world. He’d had a basic plan prepared in case the worst should happen ever since the Prewett Massacre. He was just so glad they hadn’t attacked while he was away at school, but they’d probably wanted the whole family home so they could deal with them all at once.

A Cruciatus Curse just missed Mum and clipped Harry’s shoulder before he could so much as realize that his shield would be useless against it. He screamed at the sudden, brief moment of unbearable pain, and everyone finally realized that they were in the room. In the moment of distraction, an expelliarmus blasted Mum’s wand from her hand. It flew through the air to land in the extended hand of Lord Voldemort, just as he came to a stop in the doorway. The man looked both regal and terrifying in his fine black robes. He was a handsome man who appeared in his thirties despite being twice that, his wavy black hair bearing just a touch of gray over his temples.

Despite being unarmed, Mum promptly threw herself between Harry and Voldemort, Acacia yet crouching behind her brother, clinging to his back in fear. Mum was clutching at her ribs on one side and moving with a bit of a limp. Her hair was a mess, she was dressed in rumpled pajamas, and blood ran down one side of her face. The bright green eyes she’d given both her children were wide with fear.

“Ah, Lady Potter,” Voldemort drawled in clear amusement. “You put up a commendable fight, my dear, but you knew that it was futile from the start.”

“Let my children go,” Mum entreated, her tone somewhere between a plea and a demand.

Voldemort chuckled in what looked like genuine amusement, with which his Death Eaters quickly joined. “Come now, you know me better than that after all these years.”

“They’re _innocent_!” Mum insisted angrily.

“Innocence is but a temporary state of being,” Voldemort reasoned, appearing almost mockingly reasonable as he argued his point. “They may be innocent today, but what happens in five years? Or ten? When they are all grown up and harboring a grudge. No, no, no, that simply wouldn’t do. I have enough enemies without creating more.”

“You create more when you murder _families_!” Mum screamed at him.

“On the contrary,” Voldemort assured. “I’ve created more neutral families than enemies in this manner.”

Harry cautiously stepped out from behind his mother. One hand held his wand pointed tip to the floor, his other all but crushed in Acacia’s grip, but he didn’t mind. At least he knew exactly where she was without turning any focus away from the threat.

“Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord drawled as he got a look at him. “I was very impressed by your performance in the Triwizard Tournament. Rather remarkable for someone of your age.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied cautiously.

Voldemort’s brow rose sharply, “Such respect from a child raised to loathe everything about me.”

“I wasn’t really raised at all,” Harry corrected somewhat harshly.

“Harry!?” Mum sounded both angry and bewildered.

For once not holding back, Harry turned a look of loathing on his mother, “Don’t look so surprised,” he sneered at her. “You and dad have always been too busy fighting your war to ever notice the fact that your children are not the loyal little clones you imagined.”

A glance at the Dark Lord showed him looking very curious and mildly amused by the family dysfunction.

“We never thought-!” Mum tried to argue.

“You never once asked my opinion about anything political,” Harry pointed out harshly. “You always just assumed that it was the same as yours, and Merlin forbid I ever suggest otherwise! I had to _beg_ the Hat to keep me out of Slytherin, you know! Just so you and Dad wouldn’t treat me like some kind of deviant. Well, we aren’t going to die for your hypocritical ideals.” With that, he straightened further and turned to the interested Dark Lord quietly watching the proceedings. He took a deep breath and spoke his piece, “My Lord, if you would vow to spare my sister and take no action against her until she graduates Hogwarts, then I would pledge myself and the House of Potter to your cause for as long as I live.”

“Harry!” Mum gasped in horror. “You can’t!”

“Can’t what?!” Harry hissed at her. “I am doing more to help this family than you or dad _ever have_.”

“I’m intrigued by your proposition, Potter,” Voldemort admitted thoughtfully. “You don’t ask for any mercy for your mother?”

Harry clenched his jaw. He’d been anticipating the day he became an orphan for years now. There had been enough close calls. They’d practically been taunting the Dark Lord, and he was gaining power consistently every month while the Order of the Phoenix was steadily losing members. It had only been a matter of time — not that Mum and Dad had ever been willing to admit that.

“Harry…” Mum whispered, staring at him in horrified disbelief.

He turned cold eyes on her and steeled himself against the love he unwillingly held toward the woman who should have loved him and Acacia more than anything. “You and Dad were willing to sacrifice my life and Acacia’s life for your stupid war. Well, I’m willing to sacrifice your life for ours.” He knew trying to ask for mercy for her was pointless. He didn’t want her to die, but she’d made her choices. He had to focus on himself and his sister.

Mum looked crushed by that statement and Harry could not help but comment.

“You actually look surprised!” he exclaimed disdainfully. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he couldn’t help but rub it in. “To look into the eyes of someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally and realize that they would see you dead to further their own agenda. Well, welcome to my world, mother. At least I am doing it to protect an innocent child whereas you would do it in the name of a senile old man and his fucked up vision of ‘right and wrong’.”

“Then we understand each other.” Voldemort pointed his infamous yew wand at Mum.

Her chin trembled for a moment before she firmed it. She looked away from Harry and drew herself up, facing Voldemort with dignity.

The Dark Lord appeared slightly amused by her, but didn’t hesitate to lazily incant, “Avada Kedavra.”

Despite the spell not being aimed at him, Harry felt it like no spell he’d ever encountered before. It was cold and disturbingly peaceful as it enveloped Mum. It wrapped around her and then, between one blink and the next, she was gone. It was profoundly strange to watch her body fall. Despite the fact that nothing had physically changed, everything that had made her a living being was gone. Everything that made her Lily Potter was gone. Only the shell remained.

The quiet gasp behind him drew him from his examination of what had just happened. He grimaced as he realized that he should have ensured Acacia wasn’t watching. Jaded though she was for her age, she really could have done without watching her mother die. Even Harry would have had a hard time with it when he was ten. He quickly pulled her around and wrapped one arm around her, holding her to his chest while his wand arm remained free at his side. He doubted there would be much he could do if Voldemort decided to send another Killing Curse in their direction, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to be able to fight to the last.

“Look at me, boy,” the Dark Lord bade with quiet force and Harry swallowed uneasily. Knowing what was coming, he deliberately dropped his mental shields. He didn’t for one instant think that he could keep Lord Voldemort out of his mind. The only thing he’d accomplish by keeping his shields up would be to increase his pain and possibly give Voldemort reason to distrust him.

He didn’t hesitate any longer before lifting his gaze.

Voldemort immediately slid into his mind. His willingness to allow it minimized the pain, but the man was not gentle. He was also very thorough. He leafed through Harry’s mind like a book, examining dozens of memories of him interacting with his parents, with his sister, with others at school, and picking out mental rants about the Light and Dark, his thoughts with regard to the news of the Prewett Massacre — incidentally, nothing but terror for his own family and a little disgust for the death of small children and babies, even as he intellectually understood the purpose. The moment the wards transferred to him, making him Head of House Potter and actually able to make the offer he’d made and have it binding. And finally, his thoughts about the offer he’d made Voldemort and his thoughts on watching his mother die.

Harry had no idea how long it lasted, but he was trembling when the Dark Lord finally left his mind. He struggled to take his weight off his sister, who’d put her shoulder under his arm to help support him at some point.

“Very well, Potter. I’ll be in touch with a contract,” Voldemort decided.

“House Potter will ally with you, not fall into subservience,” Harry warned with more courage than he’d realized he possessed.

Voldemort’s brow lifted and he looked legitimately surprised by the qualification. “You feel you’re in a position to be setting terms?” he asked as though genuinely curious.

“My offer stems from self-preservation, My Lord. Not cowardice. In most areas, I ideologically support the Dark already, and when I take my seat on the Wizengamot, I will vote as you instruct if you wish. I will also pay you a reasonable tithe if you desire, but I will not see House Potter fall to ruin through ill use. I believe there is enough we both may benefit from an alliance.”

“Or,” Voldemort offered, “I could end your house right now as I ended your parents.”

Acacia trembled but Harry remained strong. “You could, but I do suspect Dumbledore may be a primary beneficiary of the Potter estate in the event of my death. You will also lose my seat and my wealth.” He stared evenly at the man, ignoring the sweat trickling down his neck. “My loyalty, once earned, is steadfast, my Lord. Spare my family and it will support you loyally for many decades to come.”

Lord Voldemort considered him with a slightly amused quirk of his lips, then shook his head, “You really were meant for Slytherin, weren’t you?”

Harry just gave a small nod.

“Very well,” Voldemort decided at last. “We shall see what your loyalty is worth, Lord Potter. Cross me, however, and you and your sister will not receive the mercy I have shown your parents this day.”

Harry bowed his head deeply in response and Voldemort led his death eaters back out the way they’d come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new story? Yes. Yes, it is. Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Naturally, this doesn't mean that any of my other stories are abandoned. In fact, I'll let you in on a secret. Even when I don't post additional stories, I'm still working on them in between. I've got like a dozen or so that I fiddle with when I'm not feeling inspired to work on my posted WIPs. So you may console your disappointment that I'd have been writing this whether or not I posted it. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**4 July**

Harry and Acacia stood stock still in the center of the room as the sounds of the invaders faded and finally disappeared. Eventually, Harry became aware of his mother’s body on the floor near him, which Acacia was staring rather intently at. He quickly moved to guide his sister to the receiving room and waited for a house-elf to fetch their dressing gowns before throwing a pinch of floo powder into the fire and calling for the Ministry of Magic, Auror Office, then stuffing his head into the flames.

Thankfully, someone was there waiting for emergency calls.

“Can I help you, son?” the unknown auror questioned.

“Er,” Harry floundered, wondering how one was meant to report such a thing. “Can you send some aurors to Potter Manor? We’ve been attacked, but they’re gone now. My… my parents are dead.” His voice shook on the last sentence and it was not at all affected. For all their differences, for all the bitter feelings, despite how stifling they were, they’d been his parents and they had loved him in their own way. Just not more than they cared about their war.

The auror jumped to his feet on hearing that and called out for a couple of others before facing Harry again, “All right. Step back, lad. We’re coming through.”

Harry did as instructed, pulling Acacia with him, wrapping his arms around her as she curled into his side. Her eyes were dry, but she was far too pale still.

It was only a few seconds before aurors began emerging from the fire. There were four in the bright red auror robes, plus someone in bright green healer robes, and someone in black robes that he recognized as a pathologist. Shacklebolt and Tonks were two of the aurors, and it was Shacklebolt who addressed them.

“Are you kids okay?” he asked first.

“We’re not hurt,” Harry confirmed, “but I think Acacia might be in shock. He… Voldemort, he killed mum in front of us,” he almost whispered the last and in his mind he could see it again, as her life was snuffed out in an instant, what remained falling uselessly to the floor.

Kingsley frowned deeply and Tonks gasped, tears gathered in her eyes.

“But they’re gone?” Kingsley inquired.

Harry nodded.

The healer quickly drew the pair of them to a nearby parlor while the aurors went to examine the manor and the pathologist went with them.

Acacia was given a calming draft and a blanket, for which Harry was very grateful. He refused the offer of one for himself since they always put him to sleep and he needed to stay awake a while longer to give his statement to the aurors.

“Do you have someone you can call to look after you?” the healer asked kindly.

Harry shook his head. “I’m nearly fifteen. When my dad…” he couldn’t get the word out, bizarrely, so he just skipped it, “the family magic transferred to me.”

Family magicks always chose the next Lord when the previous died or chose to retire. The Lord could make his intentions clear and they were typically seen through, but without actually disowning a family member, he could not guarantee they wouldn’t succeed him. It wasn’t usually a problem because the magic tended to pick the one most devoted to and capable of honoring the family, which was typically the heir who was raised to it. In cases where it chose an underage wizard, it forcibly matured his magic in the process, which was a large part of the reason it had put Harry on his knees. Though it grew more uncommon the younger an heir may be, it was a legally recognized emancipation regardless of age. It was believed that family magic would not select someone not mentally mature enough, as it could go dormant instead until the proper heir was older.

“Okay,” she said with a sad smile. “I need to verify that for my records. Do you mind?” she lifted her wand questioningly.

“Go ahead,” Harry said quietly.

The spell was cast silently and a bright golden glow flashed around Harry for a moment before vanishing. The healer smiled at him, “Okay, then. It looks like that’s all in order.” She wrote for a while on her parchment, then rolled it up and tucked it in a pocket. Finally, she conjured another blanket and very firmly pushed it on Harry despite the fact he honestly didn’t feel cold. Not physically, at least.

Harry let Acacia curl into him on the settee and just let his mind drift while he waited for the aurors to return. He tried to situate a to-do list in his head. He would have a lot to do in the next week. He needed to organize and hold the funeral, but first he’d have to make a list of people that needed to be invited and send those invites. He was not the slightest bit interested in opening it to the general public. That would be a mess. Were they even called invites to a funeral? Notices, maybe? An obituary would need to go out as soon as possible. He’d have to find out what the family finances looked like and make sure he wasn’t sending out money to Dumbledore anymore. He’d need to set up a date for the will reading. Or did the lawyers do that? He didn’t know, so he’d need to find out. He needed to get new wards set up around the manor. With how hard the old ones fell, he assumed they were beyond repair, but either way, he didn’t know enough to attempt it. Who did he go to for that? Maybe the goblins? He knew they employed curse breakers, who were just ward masters specialized in disassembly rather than assembly, really. Or perhaps his lawyers would be able to recommend someone? What else? Speak to the elves and make sure they didn’t have any standing orders he may want changed, probably. For all he knew, they were instructed to obey Dumbledore if called, or other Order members.

He was sure that there was more he was forgetting, but he couldn’t straighten it all out in his head. What he really needed was parchment so he could make a list and jot down questions he’d need to find answers to. He definitely needed a few hours to meditate and try to sort through and organize the mess of family knowledge that had just landed in his brain. With practice he knew that he should be able to identify the location of every Potter property under family wards and know the location and general health of everyone under the wards. At least, that was his understanding. His dad hadn’t ever gone over the details with him. He’d never trained Harry as a proper heir, disdaining the practice as “pureblood nonsense” rather than reasonable preparation for future responsibilities.

Maybe he’d just planned on having more time, like a short-sighted idiot.

Thankfully, Kingsley returned before his brain could spiral any further. The man pulled a chair up in front of Harry and gave him a terribly sad look. “I’m so sorry this happened to you all, Harry.” He kept his voice soft as Acacia was more asleep than not against Harry’s side.

“Not your fault,” Harry allowed, because it wasn’t. It was his parents’ fault and it was Dumbledore’s fault. You don’t repeatedly spit in a dragon’s eye and expect anything other than a sudden and ignoble death. It’s what his parents had done and at Dumbledore’s instruction. Kingsley was a member of the Order as well, but Harry didn’t really blame him. He was just another victim as far as Harry was concerned. A victim of Dumbledore’s blind ideology.

“I know,” Kingsley agreed quietly, “but I cared a lot about your parents.” His voice caught a little and he paused before going on. “Well, we’ve examined the scene. Now I just need to take your statement, okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.

“Okay, so why don’t you tell me in your own words what happened tonight from when you first noticed something was wrong until you called the aurors?” Kingsley offered, setting up the dictation quill to record everything.

Harry sighed and sent his mind back to when he’d first woken. He wasn’t looking forward to going through it again, but he knew it was necessary. So he explained how he’d woken to the wards falling and gone to fetch his sister, intent on trying to escape with her. He explained that they’d made it to the dining room before the family magicks had transferred to him, bringing him to his knees and disorienting him for a time — he wasn’t sure how long. By the time he pulled himself together, the fight was spilling into the dining room, with his mother fighting three masked death eaters at once. Then he’d been clipped by a cruciatus curse for just a second as it hadn’t even been aimed at him, but he’d screamed and it had distracted his mum enough for Voldemort to disarm her.

And then he got a little bit creative, because Kingsley didn’t need to know that he’d been all but complicit in his mother’s death. He didn’t need to know that his last words to her had been hateful. And Voldemort was officially a criminal, enemy of the state, so saying that he’d all but signed on the man’s crusade would be a bad idea.

“Voldemort killed her,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes vacant, his voice hollow. Honestly, it didn’t take much effort. “When he turned to me, I…” He met Kingsley’s eyes and said severely, “I had to protect my sister. I swore that if he let us live, the House of Potter would not oppose him.”

Kingsley sucked in a shocked breath. He looked stunned for a moment before giving his head a bemused shake, “I had wondered why he let you two live. He doesn’t usually…”

“Let kids grow up to hate him for killing their parents,” Harry finished with a nod. “Yes. I’m aware.” He paused briefly before adding. “After the Prewetts, I was afraid we were next,” he admitted. “I wanted mum and dad to just stop fighting, but they refused.” He met Kingsley’s eyes and added, imploring the man to believe him and honestly not sure how much was real and how much acting at this point, “I’m not a Gryffindor, Kingsley. I’m a Ravenclaw. It just doesn’t make sense to me to keep fighting if it gets you and everyone that you care about killed. I…” now he feigned shame that he definitely didn’t feel, looking down at his hands. “I know that sometimes people have to fight for their freedom, but I won’t risk Acacia’s life for it. I just can’t. So yes,” he looked back up to show that he didn’t regret his choice, “the House of Potter will step back from this conflict. We will survive.” Unlike the Prewett House, which was now extinct in the male line with no women of childbearing age capable of continuing it as Head until they had a son of proper age and Molly’s sons all Weasleys.

“I understand, Harry,” Kingsley comforted. “You didn’t really have a choice and fighting should be a choice you make, not an obligation you feel bound to.”

Merlin, what an idea. Too bad James and Lily had never understood that. Neither had seemed able to conceive how someone could simultaneously be a good person and _not_ want to risk their lives fighting on the losing side of a war. By that logic, Harry and Acacia _had_ to believe in the fight because they were good people and any hint to the contrary was regarded with shock and horror, as though it was tantamount to admitting they were, in fact, evil.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, examining his hands in his lap again, the catch in his voice not at all fake this time.

After a moment, Kingsley spoke again, “Well, I think Sirius is ah, _out of town_ for a couple more days,” which was code for “on Order business”, “but is there anyone else I can call to come and stay with you until Sirius gets back?”

Harry shook his head, “That won’t be necessary. When dad, er…” still could not say it, his mind violently shying away from giving voice to that word, “the family magic transferred to me.” He’d said that before, but maybe Kingsley hadn’t understood that he’d meant it like that.

Kingsley’s eyes widened, “You’re only fourteen.”

And it was rare in people under fifteen, but, “I’ll be fifteen in a few weeks,” he dismissed. “I’ve got the house-elves to help me out with things and the portraits if I need advice. I’ll be fine, Kingsley.”

The man looked shaken, but he gave a stiff nod, “Okay, Harry. If you do need anything though, you know you can call any of us,” by which he meant Order members, not aurors, of course.

“I know,” Harry nodded, knowing that he never would. He wanted nothing to do with the Order anymore. He’d still associate with his godfather, of course, but as his godfather only. Not as a member of the Order.

* * *

The aurors didn’t linger long once Harry’s statement was given, thankfully. Harry let them see themselves out, not wanting to wake Acacia just yet. He remained on the settee with her for some time, mind turning over everything he’d have to do next. It was only about an hour before sunrise at this point so trying to go to sleep seemed pointless, particularly given everything he needed to see done as soon as possible.

Finally, he called Sori and asked her to take his parents’ bodies to the crypt and place them in stasis until the funeral. Only once he was sure he wouldn’t stumble upon either body if he moved around the house did Harry get up and seek out his father’s financial books in his study. He brought them back to the sitting room and sat again next to his sleeping sister as he went about looking through the books to figure out where the family sat financially.

For all he’d been meant for Slytherin, he made a credible Ravenclaw as well. Harry would not have been allowed to befriend anyone who might be on the “other side” politically due to family connections and most of the children of Order members and sympathizers tended to actually believe the crap their parents fought for, meaning he didn’t _want_ to be friends with them. He had friendly acquaintances in school, but still spent the majority of his time studying instead. So despite the fact that he was just shy of fifteen, he had a decent grasp on everything he was now going to need to know. His father may have cared nothing for preparing Harry for his responsibilities, but Harry had done what he could. He hadn’t had all that much faith that his father was long for this world. No Order member seemed to be.

He made notes of everything that he wanted to speak to the goblins about. First on the list was eliminating the stipend his father had been paying to the Order. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hugely draining sum, but it was significant. It amounted to roughly the same number of galleons he and mum brought every month going straight back out to Dumbledore, but at least he hadn’t been gravely draining the family fortune. Mum had been working the last few years in the Department of International Cooperation basically trying to subtly search out foreign aid for Dumbledore’s vigilante group. She had a Charms mastery, but she’d chosen to devote it and the majority of her time to helping the Order instead.

There was very little in the way of investments and their family seemed to be mostly subsisting on the interest from their vaults, though the wealth had been dwindling slowly.

He was just finishing up what he could do with the books when Acacia finally stirred. She looked confused for a moment and then terrible sadness crumpled her face as she remembered.

Harry opened his arms to her and she fell into them, clinging to him fiercely. She sobbed for long minutes before finally trailing off into sniffles. She wiped her face on her sleeve, then sat back enough to look up at him. “You saved us,” she said at last.

Harry gave her a weak smile. He knew that, if anything, Acacia had always been even more distant from their parents than he had been, but he was still glad to know that she didn’t blame him for what happened. For letting their mother be murdered right in front of them and then all but shaking her murderer’s hand. “I’d been afraid that would happen since last year,” he admitted.

“Me, too,” she nodded. A long moment of silence passed between them before she asked, “So what happens now?”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh before explaining, “The family magic transferred to me. I’m legally an adult now, so I’m going to take care of us.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and she hugged him tight again.

“Don’t worry, dear one. I will protect you,” he vowed, returning her hug just as desperately.

“I know,” she responded with complete faith.

After a few minutes, he managed to get her moving and they found their way to the small breakfast room that opened to the water garden that they both loved. The gentle sound of the small streams and waterfalls built into the garden was very relaxing. Ferns, bushes, and small trees dotted the garden, broken up by splashes of colorful flowers, the ponds populated by all manner of fish.

Harry was happy to see, as they crossed the manor, that the elves had already cleaned up the mess made from the battle. Not just the bodies, but the broken and destroyed furnishings were repaired or removed. Scorch marks scrubbed from walls. There was the occasional crack in the wall or missing chandelier that he’d need to hire professionally fixed, but it no longer felt like walking through a battlefield.

After a light breakfast, Harry sent Acacia to her room to dress while he went to his own to do the same. A trip to Diagon Alley was absolutely necessary this morning. If they were quick, they might even accomplish it before the news of his parents’ fate became common knowledge. He was sure that someone in the auror office had already leaked it to the _Daily Prophet_ , but they may not get it in their morning addition given how late in the night it had happened. They’d need to stop by the _Daily Prophet_ as well to deliver a proper obituary for them to print.

With that in mind, he showered and changed quickly, then sat at his writing desk in his private sitting room and drafted out the obituary. His eyes stung and his throat was thick as he wrote it, but he grit his teeth and made it as proper as he could manage. He wrote about his father’s unshakable conviction and his mother’s drive for justice in such a way that it sounded like he considered them good things, but those who knew them well may see it was those very traits that got them killed. He added that they were survived by their two children, the elder of which was now Lord Potter. He concluded that funeral services would be private and held on the grounds of Potter Manor and that anyone wishing to send gifts to please instead make a donation to St. Mungo’s in memory of Lily and James.

He really didn’t need to deal with sorting through a load of possibly cursed gifts and they weren’t in need of any wealth, so this was the best idea all around. He’d read obituaries before where people had made similar requests.

When it was as good as he thought he could make it, he folded it up and slipped it into the expanded inner pocket of his robe. He found Acacia waiting for him in the parlor, wringing her hands and staring blankly at the floor.

He gave her another long hug, though she didn’t cry this time, and then led her through the floo to Diagon Alley.

He made their first stop at the bank, where he requested a meeting with the account manager right away. It took only a few minutes before they were led back to Griphook’s office. The goblin bowed deeply to him and greeted him as Lord Potter, which didn’t surprise Harry. The goblins always knew when one of their account holders had perished. He was not surprised that they’d also a way of knowing that he’d received the family magic.

He didn’t want to be on the Alley any longer than necessary today and they had several stops to make. “First off, I want the sum to Albus Dumbledore stopped immediately,” Harry began as soon as he and Acacia were seated. The goblin promptly began scribbling on a piece of parchment. “I would also like to look into making some new investments. They can be in the magical or muggle worlds. It doesn’t matter to me as long as they are likely to bring in a profit. I’ve looked through my father’s books and I don’t intend to let things continue as he has. I want to grow the fortune, not see it dwindle away.

“I would like to put you in charge of managing my investments under my direction. Please gather a list of likely investment opportunities and send them to me. I’ll look through and tell you which ones I want to pursue and how much I’m willing to invest in each. I’m interested in new businesses or established ones, real estate, technology, potions’ development, anything that looks promising. Just be sure to include a good explanation and background, especially with muggle businesses as I haven’t had a lot of contact with the muggle world in the last few years.” Not since primary school. Lily had insisted he and Acacia attend despite the fact tutors would have been far more efficient and much better prep for Hogwarts.

Griphook actually grinned as he noted down everything Harry said and Harry wasn’t surprised. The responsibility that he’d just given Griphook would give the goblin a sizable commission on any profits made via these investments. It was something that not too many wizards did as Harry understood it. They didn’t trust goblins enough, which Harry thought was foolish. Goblins loved nothing more than money. Give one an opportunity to make money by making you money and they would give their all.

Humans were not always so reliable in their loyalties.

After leaving the bank, Harry led them to the Daily Prophet office, where they were no doubt already preparing to print an article with the deaths of their parents as a front page headline. A request to speak with the editor was swiftly granted once he informed them that he was, in fact, the young Lord Potter.

The man had the decency to greet him with solemnity despite probably being gleeful about the gruesome headlines his reporters were hatching. Harry handed over the obituary with the warning, “I expect to find that printed exactly as it is written without embellishment.”

“Of course, Lord Potter,” the man promised gravely.

“I know that your paper makes a great deal of money from selling sensationalism, Mr. Fawley,” Harry said sternly, “but I promise you that if I find anything inaccurate or defamatory in the articles printed about myself or my family from this moment on, I will pursue legal action to the absolute full extent of the law. My father may have been lax in this area, but you will find I am not. My family is not here for the amusement of your readers. Do we understand each other?”

The editor looked more genuinely sober this time as he nodded. “Of course. In the interest of accuracy, would you be willing to answer a few questions about last night’s events, Lord Potter?”

Harry withheld a sigh. He probably should have seen this coming. The paper didn’t seem to go out of it’s way to actually get accurate quotes, but with the ultimatum he’d just leveled and the fact that he was already there… “You may ask,” Harry allowed.

Mr. Fawley eagerly scraped together parchment and quill as he scanned swiftly through what was written in the obituary. He drew a sheet of notes from his desk closer and scanned that as well. “Well then, Lord Potter. First off, I understand that the family magicks have transferred to you. Do you feel ready to take on that responsibility, being that you’re not even fifteen yet?”

“Yes,” Harry answered simply. “The Potter family magic would not have come to me were I not ready.”

The editor made note of that as he moved on to his next question. “Is it true that your home was attacked by Death Eaters last night?”

“Along with Lord Voldemort himself, yes,” Harry confirmed.

Interestingly, the man didn’t flinch at the Dark Lord’s name. “Can you explain how it is that you and your sister survived? He Who Must Not Be Named is not known for leaving survivors regardless of age,” he pointed out.

Harry gave the answer a moment of thought before realizing that one way to express his gratitude to Voldemort for letting them live and damaging the Order at the same time was at hand. Granted, it might make him look bad, but probably not any worse than the rumors would have made him seem anyway. He decided to go for it and hope he didn’t end up regretting it. “My family was targeted because of my parents’ involvement in the vigilante group known as the Order of the Phoenix,” he explained gravely. “After my parents were gone, I was head of the family. With that authority, I swore that I would not continue their crusade. I am fourteen. My sister is ten. This war should be fought by adults. By aurors, specifically.”

“And that was enough?” the editor asked with a straight face though his eyes gleamed excitedly. “You just told him you, personally, would not fight against him despite the fact he’d murdered your parents and he left you both unharmed?”

Harry sighed and let some of his emotional turmoil show through, “I loved my parents, Mr. Fawley, but they were already gone. There was nothing to gain by seeing myself, my sister, and my House follow them. I fully trust that the ministry is capable of handling this conflict. Children and ordinary citizens need not lay down their lives.” He cleared his throat and shook his head, “That’s all I’m prepared to say at this time, sir. I trust that I will not find my words misrepresented.”

“Of course not, Lord Potter,” Fawley promised hastily as Harry took his sister’s hand and departed the office. They stopped by the clerk on the way out to pay the two galleon fee to post the obituary.

Next, Harry led his very quiet sister to the family solicitor. As the new Lord Potter, he was, of course, granted an immediate audience and allowed to read the will before the official reading. Historically, this was done to ensure that former Lords would not be able to do something outrageous like give everything but the last ten galleons to someone that magic did not choose as the Lord. Only under certain circumstances was it considered legally or morally permissible for a Lord to defy the wishes of his predecessor though, and Harry, sadly, had neither legal nor moral standing to prevent a hundred thousand galleons from going to fucking Dumbledore.

Merlin how Harry hated that man. Him and his fucked up idea of what the world should be.

As much as he’d like to eliminate or at least decimate the amount of galleons the old man received, he didn’t need the scandal it would arouse. It wasn’t something that he could conceal. Legally, the lawyers would have to read the will as it stood and then explain any changes made by the current Lord. Dumbledore would use it as proof that Harry was too young to hold the seat without adult oversight and given his popularity in certain circles and his connections, there was a chance he’d succeed. It wouldn’t change the family magic that Harry held, but it could influence those in the ministry to insist he have a guardian looking after him and helping him make decisions regarding his family.

It wasn’t as though the money was even a tenth of the Potter assets. Even liquid assets. It was just infuriating that James would so carelessly give away such a sum when he’d contributed less than nothing to the vaults in his time as Lord. Indeed, he’d done nothing but drain the family finances and now, in death, he was draining them further.

Though it left a bitter taste in his mouth, Harry couldn’t help but think their family was lucky his father had not lived to rule it any longer. Had James lived another five or six decades, the family may have been in real financial ruin.

As he’d suspected though, in the event of him and Acacia dying as well, Dumbledore would inherit everything. Money. Property. Artifacts. Not a single thing to distant relatives. Just some small possessions and sums to friends, but the whole estate to Dumbledore. Despite having guessed it, he still found himself astonished by the hold the old man had over his followers. If others had done the same, Dumbledore stood to be a very rich man by the time Voldemort had slaughtered his way through the entire Order. Perhaps that was his real goal, he couldn’t help but postulate cynically.

Harry arranged for the will to be read without adjustment in five days time. Traditionally, the funeral would be held first, so he had to get on that. He did remember to get a list of three of the most reputable warding firms in the United Kingdom. He wanted his house warded again as soon as possible.

Finally, they stopped by Twilfitt and Tattings to order funeral robes. They’d both had a pair made last summer for the Prewetts and various other Order members who’d perished, but Harry thought the occasion definitely merited new rather than just resized robes. Their sizes were taken quickly and Harry asked for traditional robes for the both of them. Mr. Twilfitt promised that they’d be ready and sent to them by morning.

At last, Harry took Acacia home. She seemed drained despite the fact she’d done little but follow him around a bit and watch silently. He didn’t blame her. He was feeling pretty drained himself, but he didn’t have time to rest.

After some hesitation, he decided to set up in his father’s study. It was the Lord’s study, therefore it now belonged to him. It would have all the information he needed about the estate. It also held his grandfather’s portrait and if he ever needed advice, now was the time. He led Acacia into the study and asked the elves to bring them lunch in there. He didn’t think either of them would ever want to use the family dining room again with the memory of their mother’s death in there.

“Hello, Harry,” Charlus greeted in a subdued manner while Acacia and Harry ate their lunch. They’d each been lost in their own thoughts before the portrait’s interruption.

Harry turned his eyes to the portrait. Charlus Potter looked much like James, though without the sharper features he’d gotten from his mother. He wore his black hair long and tied back. His eyes were identical to James’ hazel eyes.

“Hello, grandfather,” Harry greeted in return. James and Lily had never been keen on Harry and Acacia speaking with the portraits. They’d said the children didn’t need to get any of those archaic ideas in their heads. Charlus’ portrait hung in James’ office, but the rest were locked up in the portrait hall where the children were not permitted. Harry actually knew little about his family beyond James’ few stories about his parents. He painted Charlus as strict and always busy with the “estate”, which was always said with distaste. Dorea had been some kind of inventor from what Harry gathered, but he didn’t think there were any notable things she’d invented. He just knew that she’d spent most of her time in her workshop.

“So James was killed,” Charlus stated more than asked.

Harry nodded bitterly. “He died a fool, fighting to preserve a corrupt and oppressive government with the belief that he was preventing the very thing he defended.”

Charlus sighed deeply and closed his eyes in grief. “I spoiled and neglected the boy in perhaps equal measure,” he admitted. “I gave him everything he ever wanted except for my time. I brushed off his mistakes and ignored his arrogance. By the time I realized how firmly beneath Dumbledore’s thumb he’d fallen, Dorea and I were falling ill with the Dragon Pox epidemic and it was too late.”

Harry ate in silence as he listened and considered the words when the portrait finished. He supposed it might make some sense of his father. His mother… he didn’t even know how to understand her convictions. She’d come into their world from the muggle one and had come to idolize Dumbledore, whom everyone knew cared deeply for muggleborns. Instead of looking at the world objectively as Harry did and trying to understand it from all perspectives, she just believed the one closest to her heart. Perhaps if she’d been a Ravenclaw, things would have been different. Gryffindor House seemed to turn out little else but Dumbledore supporters. Some were almost like religious fanatics in their worship of him and those joined the Order. Others were just strong supporters and generally willing to bend the rules or laws in their chosen profession in order to aid the old man.

“You are young to hold the title,” Charlus’ voice drew Harry from his musings, “but if the family magicks thought you ready, I suppose you must be. Have you yet made plans for the House of Potter’s future?” he posed.

“I have already sworn the allegiance of the house to Voldemort’s cause for so long as I live,” Harry admitted grimly. “It was that or perish alongside my parents and see our house go extinct.”

Charlus’ brow furrowed in concern, but he nodded. “Then you made the right choice, I suspect.”

“I want to start making investments,” Harry admitted. “I’ve already set our account manager, Griphook, to the task of finding promising ventures.”

“You’re trusting the goblin?” Charlus asked with more curiosity than censure.

“I think goblins are more likely to care about making money than anything. A human might be swayed to political allegiances or by threats to himself or his family. Goblins are much more difficult to subvert,” Harry reasoned.

“Unless they are bribed,” Charlus warned.

“Griphook isn’t stupid,” Harry dismissed. “He won’t be foolish enough to risk losing all he stands to gain as our investment manager just for some small or short-term bribes.”

Charlus tipped his head in what wasn’t quite agreement, but neither disagreement.

“I want to grow our estate,” Harry admitted. “I want to embrace wizarding traditions and practices that my parents disdained. We are magical. It is the soul of stupidity to ignore that.”

Charlus actually smiled in response to that. “I’m glad to hear it. I can already see that the family magicks knew what they were about when they deemed you ready.”

Harry sighed, “There’s so much that I still don’t know. For all my father made himself a target in the war, he acted as though he had no fear of dying. He taught me nothing of managing an estate. All I know, I managed to learn myself from school or reading books in the library here that I wasn’t meant to. I don’t feel like it’s nearly enough.”

“Well,” Charlus concluded briskly, “I suppose that will be my duty then. I shall help to guide you through learning all you need to guide our family.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped a bit in relief, though he’d hardly doubted the portrait would do other than help as he could. He looked to Acacia and offered her a small smile, “We’re going to be okay,” he promised her and she returned his smile, weighted as it was by their recent experiences.

He wondered if she’d ever smile like a little girl again.

* * *

The letter from Dumbledore arrived that evening.

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _My dear child, I was terribly grieved to hear of your parents_ _’ deaths. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now or what you went through last night. Your parents will be dearly missed by a great many people._
> 
> _I hope that you and your sister will consider coming to stay with Molly and Arthur now. I can_ _’t imagine you can want to remain in that huge empty house, particularly with the recent memories. I know that Molly and Arthur would love to have you and I’m sure that young Acacia would fare much better with other children around. I know there are a number of families in the area with children near to her age._
> 
> _I have been informed that you_ _’ve become lord of your House. A very great burden for anyone to bear, much less a child so young. I’m sure that Sirius, when he returns, will be able to help you with things, and I am always available to offer advice. I imagine that with the upcoming will reading and funeral to plan you must be feeling quite overwhelmed. Please don’t hesitate to write me back with any questions or concerns you have. I can provide you a list of people to notify of the funeral if you’d like. I can also stop by for a chat if want. Perhaps even take you and your sister to the Burrow. I will have some time the next few days. Just write me back with a day that would work and I can stop by when I have an hour spare._
> 
> _Again, Harry, you and your sister have my deepest sympathies. I hope very much to hear from you soon._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Albus Dumbledore_
> 
> _Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry felt a stab of vindication at the single title at the letter’s close. In recent years, he’d lost the Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump positions to more conservative politicians.

He wished that he was surprised at the audacity of that letter, but he honestly wasn’t. It was just like Dumbledore to come in like the supportive grandfather offering to make everything all better. Shacklebolt had undoubtedly informed Dumbledore of the agreement he’d made with Voldemort in order to survive, but Dumbledore didn’t care. He’d happily see Harry and Acacia dead in the name of his crusade. Especially, no doubt, if it meant he inherited the complete Potter Estate. So many new properties for the Order to use and so very many galleons to support their fetid cause.

Harry got the letter directly after dinner and he wasted no time in writing a scathing reply.

> _Headmaster Dumbledore,_
> 
> _I am writing to inform you that I hold you entirely at fault for the deaths of my parents. You are the one that convinced them far beyond reason that your crusade is worthy of their deaths and even the deaths of their children. You are a manipulative old man far too convinced of your own infallibility. But you_ _’re far from perfect. Your precious sycophants are dropping like flies and I will not line up to be next._
> 
> _The House of Potter will not fall for your definition of right and wrong._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Lord Harald Potter_

Though he had half a mind to send it as a howler, he decided that, as a lord, he should have more decorum and restraint than that. He did make sure to send it with Hedwig before going to bed. It would ensure Dumbledore received it with his breakfast. The old man needed to understand that he would not be manipulated as his parents had been.

Acacia, unsurprisingly, slept in his bed that night and he was grateful for it. Her presence would likely help to hold off the nightmares of watching her die like their mother.

He spent about an hour just meditating and trying to sort out his mind while he listened to Acacia’s soft breaths before sleep claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter could probably do with a bit more polish, but I'm busy all weekend, so it was now or next week. I figured that I probably care more about the polish than most of you, so I'm posting it.


	3. Chapter 3

**5 July**

It was while Harry and Acacia were eating breakfast that Sirius arrived. He burst into the room like a man possessed and his wild eyes fell on where Harry sat at the head of the small table, Acacia at his right. He stared at them for a breathless moment, then just collapsed as though all the strength had gone out of him. He wrapped his arms around his head and great, wracking sobs shook his frame.

Acacia was watching their godfather with wide eyes and Harry sighed. “Maybe you should take your breakfast outside,” he urged with a nod toward the little patio set up within the water garden beyond the glass doors. It was a nice enough morning for it.

Acacia wasted no time in gathering her plate and high-tailing it out of the room. Her goblet of juice vanished a moment later, so the elves were clearly earning their keep.

Harry continued to pick at his food despite his drastically diminished appetite. His heart ached to hear his godfather’s grief, particularly knowing that he was at least a little bit complicit in his mother’s death. The minutes passed with infinite reluctance as Sirius lost himself in his grief. It wasn’t until it had been going on a couple of minutes that Harry realized hugging the man might be the decent thing to do.

Despite the realization, however, he stayed where he was. It was different with Acacia. They grieved together. They leaned on each other like they always had. Sirius was different. Harry didn’t understand how this was hitting him so hard. Surely he’d known that any member of the Order could die at any time. That it was somewhat likely given everything. How had he not prepared himself for it?

“How did it happen?” Sirius finally croaked out.

With a sigh, Harry gave up on his meal and reluctantly explained again how he had woken to the wards falling and attempted to flee with Acacia before they were trapped in the family dining room. Again, he fudged the truth about the order of events so it seemed Lily’s death had preceded his desperate bargain to save his and Acacia’s lives.

Sirius eased himself into a listless sprawl on the floor as he listened, back propped against the wall, legs splayed in front of him. His desolate face creased with revulsion when Harry spoke of his oath to not oppose Voldemort.

Knowing Sirius, he probably would have preferred they die remaining proudly loyal to The Cause.

Sirius was silent for a long time then and Harry quietly fixed himself another cup of tea. Acacia came back through the room after a couple of minutes, almost cringing at the tension in the air. She didn’t linger, almost darting wide around Sirius and disappearing into the manor beyond.

“I suppose I’ll move my things in here,” Sirius said eventually. By all appearances, he’d not even noticed his goddaughter move through the room. “I can stay in the room I used after I ran away. Then I can look after you both.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry said firmly. “The family magicks transferred to me, Sirius,” he added when his godfather looked at him. “I am magically and legally an adult. I can look after Acacia and myself.”

Sirius just stared at him in some disbelief. “You can’t be serious, pup. After what happened to your parents, you think you’ll be safe here alone? There aren’t even any more than the most basic wards left!”

“I will be calling some warding firms today,” Harry assured. “And I told you about the deal I made with Voldemort,” he added quietly, letting himself seem at least a little bit shamed again. “I think we’ll be safer here without any members of the Order present.”

Sirius flinched like he’d been slapped and his mouth opened and closed several times, but he didn’t seem able to find a way to refute that.

Harry sighed and tried to play to the man’s grief, “We’ll be okay, Sirius. We just… I think it’s important that we can just lean on each other right now.”

Sirius deflated at that. “Okay, pup,” he whispered. “I understand.” He then met Harry’s eyes fervently, “I’m going to visit all the time, though. Every day if I can.”

Unless he was working or on Order business, Harry translated. What probably amounted to a couple days a month. James and Lily had been the same. Full of good intentions that were not nearly as important as the Order, Albus in general, or the war in any capacity.

Peter, thankfully, was even more busy than the rest. He didn’t have a day job, just living off the Order and the contributions of those like James and Lily. With his animagus form, he was constantly employed to spy in all manner of places. Harry had never cared for the squirrelly man. He was far too obsequious.

Sirius didn’t stay for too long after that, which was a relief. The man seemed totally in shock over the realization that his friends were really gone and he was mostly just sitting there staring at the floor while tears ran down his face. Hopefully he wouldn’t come back until he’d calmed down.

* * *

Harry found Acacia in the Lord’s study, her face buried in a book. There were tear tracks on her face and Harry paused to press a kiss to the top of her head before moving to his desk. By how studiously she was staring at her book, Harry didn’t think she wanted any more emotional exchanges just then.

With a weary sigh, Harry took up the list of warding firms his attorney had recommended and went to kneel in front of the fireplace.

The calls went pretty smoothly. Upon hearing that the primary family manor was entirely unprotected, all three firms agreed to meet with him the same day. They’d need a tour of the property to assess what kind of wards they could apply and how much they would charge, so he staggered the appointments through the day.

While waiting for the first warding firm to arrive at ten, Harry worked with his grandfather’s portrait to draft the funeral notices and then worked to come up with a list of people he intended to invite. As much as he’d love to restrict the list to a handful of their closest friends, he knew it would be unseemly to exclude so many. At this point, he couldn’t afford to give anyone — Dumbledore particularly — reasons to cast aspersions on his ability to run his House. In a couple of years, when he was older and had established some proper connections with people of note, things would be different. Then he could flaunt his hatred of the Order much more openly.

In the end, he had a list made up of the entire Order, a handful of his parents’ associates from work, and his aunt Petunia and her family. He’d met the muggles only once and hadn’t been impressed, but they _were_ family. They had more right to attend than most of the Order.

While he worked, Acacia remained mostly on the settee. She read for a while, then left for a few minutes and came back with her journal. She spent a long time writing in that and Harry hoped she was finding it helpful to sort out her thoughts. Harry thought he might do the same, but not just yet. He needed to handle his duties first. Then he’d let himself just stop and think.

The Rigel Smith Warding Firm arrived right on time. It was actually Julian Smith, who was Rigel’s son and current head of the business, who arrived with Caroline Wilkes, his apprentice. Harry was presented with a brief contract first thing. In exchange for a ten galleon consultation fee, the contract would be signed, ensuring that the warders couldn’t use anything they found in the course of their work against the House of Potter and they couldn’t share it with anyone else.

Harry sent an elf for the money as he didn’t carry any around at home, and they got the contract signed in short order. Harry was then handed a thin book with a soft leather cover.

“That’s a list of all the wards we can do,” Julian explained. “You’ll find each one described in detail. Not all wards can be done together and some require special circumstances to put up. Certain materials they need to be grounded in or a certain proximity to natural ley lines. Some of the wards don’t function well together and sometimes only in certain sets. As we look around the property and see what we have to work with, we’ll be able to tell you exactly which ones we could put up. Go ahead and look through that, though. Let me know if any of them really strike your fancy.”

And so Harry led them around the property, to the warding hub beneath the manor, and to examine some of the wardstones around the perimeter of the land. While they examined various areas, Harry looked through the book they’d provided.

There were a lot of interesting wards. Obviously the anti-apparition, anti-portkey, and physical proximity wards would need to be employed as the most basic security measures. There were other interesting ones that would allow him to forcibly eject visitors that had worn out their welcome and wards that would let him spy on anyone and anything within their boundaries. There were a lot of variations on the same themes. Some that could do basically the same things but were stronger or weaker in certain areas and that had different requirements or prohibited the use of certain other ward versions congruently.

Honestly, Harry got rather lost in the technical bits, but that’s why he was hiring professionals.

In the end, he got a basic outline of the wards he wanted that could work together and rough estimate of the cost that was slightly alarming. Properly set wards would last decades if not centuries though, and this was not an area in which he necessarily wanted to go for the lowest bid.

He did have two more firms to see, however, so he thanked them for their time and let them know that he’d be in touch with his decision soon.

When they were gone, Harry took a few minutes to slowly drink a cup of tea and clear his head before returning to the funeral arrangements. Charlus suggested that he duplicate the notice he’d written up as many times as needed and just add names afterward to save himself a lot of time. That led to the portrait teaching Harry the permanent duplication charm necessary for it.

It felt more than a little strange to be doing magic in summer, but as he was legally and magically an adult, he was allowed, even if he wouldn’t be able to legally apparate until he’d passed a test at the Ministry.

By the time he’d managed to successfully duplicate the invitation as many times as necessary, it was lunch time. Harry was tempted to order it delivered right there in the office so he could keep working, but he thought that might be a bad habit to get into.

They ended up having lunch in the Emily Courtyard, which was toward the back of the manor and named for an ancestor who’d enclosed the courtyard with a pyramidal glass roof and turned it into something of a greenhouse. It was filled with fruit trees and vines and berry bushes mostly now, each magically enhanced to produce fruit year-round despite a climate that should not have supported them all simultaneously.

The fruit and berries gave the entire courtyard a very sweet aroma and Acacia barely finished her meal before gorging herself on every fruit that caught her eye.

Harry smiled at her enthusiasm and let himself just relax for a few minutes while he nibbled on plums from the nearest tree. This, he decided, is why he needed to remember to take breaks, even if only at mealtimes. He’d end up losing his bloody mind if he didn’t take some time here and there.

The break was so nice, in fact, that he let it stretch on until Sori popped in at one to inform him that the Harper and Wiles Warding Company had arrived. He looked to Acacia as he stood to greet his guests and found her looking back sadly. It seemed reality reasserting itself had broken the moment for her as well.

With a sad smile, he offered her a hand and she promptly clung to his arm as he went to greet the warders in the receiving room. Last time, she’d remained in his study while he gave the tour but this time, she stuck to his side.

Harry wished so badly that he knew the right words to make her feel better about everything, but he wasn’t sure there were any such words. With time, he hoped, things would get better. There was nothing else he could do.

This meeting went much as the first, though this time he was given more of a muggle pamphlet containing the wards they offered and there were fewer technical details available about the wards. The actual wards on offer were not much different. There were not as many variations, but when he asked, he was informed, “Harper and Wiles has been in business over three hundred years, Lord Potter. In that time, we’ve whittled down the most successful and beneficial variations of the common household wards. You’ll find the ones we offer are superior to a large number of those offered by other firms.”

That was a little impressive, Harry supposed, and he took that into consideration as they went through the details of the wards that he wanted and what they were able to provide. Overall, he thought that what they could offer was probably superior to the last firm, though the prices were likewise greater.

He dismissed them with the same promise to let them know of his decision soon.

He and Acacia returned to his study when they were again alone in the manor and Harry spent the next hour addressing each of the funeral notices to their recipients and signing them individually. It felt strange to attach Lord to his name though he imagined he’d get used to it soon enough.

At three, Avery & Flynn Warding Specialists arrived. Harry managed to give the notices to an elf to see them posted before the warders were led into his study.

They were very professional and businesslike, as Harry was coming to expect. They signed the right contracts before Harry took them on basically the same tour as the previous two groups. They provided him with a palm-sized book, each page offering another ward. The descriptions were more basic than the first firm, but they offered a lot more unique wards than either of the other firms. Some of them actually looked very questionably legal.

There were a significant number of blood wards, for example, and Harry knew that the Ministry had outlawed all but a few very specific uses of blood magic. There were also containment wards that would trap people within them or even within a specific portion of the wards. That had to be skirting the laws against private citizens holding other private citizens captive.

When the tour was finished, they sat down in Harry’s study to discuss his options and Callister Avery explained the legal loopholes that made the various wards completely legal to have, though admittedly certain applications of those wards would be illegal. Overall, Avery and his apprentice, an attractive young woman not long out of Hogwarts named Quixotic Nott, seemed much more in line with Harry’s personal philosophies. And much more willing to install the best wards, even if they weren’t all the most Light.

Blood wards were, after all, the most powerful wards for family dwellings. They worked the most powerfully with the family magicks and they would be the most difficult to tear down.

They ended up spending an hour going through the wards Harry wanted and the combinations that could be applied. Harry agreed to paying for new ward stones as the old ones were old and some of them had cracked when Voldemort brought down the previous wards. Replacing all the stones rather than just the cracked ones would make the entire thing much stronger.

Harry did make sure that one of the new wards would make it very difficult for anyone to dismantle his wards without him getting advanced notice. Granted, Voldemort may still manage it, or Dumbledore, but it was at least some added security that he would be alerted before the wards fell entirely in the future.

When Callister and Quixotic had left, Harry quickly composed a couple of brief letters to the other warding firms to inform them that he would not be requiring their services. He then took a minute to just breathe before forcing himself onto his next task. On Charlus’ advice, Harry sent an elf to fetch him a few books from the family library and set to work learning about the various options for wizarding funerals.

Feeling the pressure of having the funeral ready in time, Harry broke his own new rule of taking breaks for meals and ordered dinner delivered to the study while he continued researching his options for the funeral.

“I think it should be a very traditional ceremony,” Harry decided while picking at his dessert.

“What does that mean?” Acacia inquired curiously. Her own dessert was disappearing rather quickly.

“It means,” Harry sighed, “that a proper priestess will perform the final rites. And that the vast majority of the people I’ve invited will probably find it offensive. I’m sure mum and dad wouldn’t have wanted it.”

Acacia perked up a bit, “I’ve read a little about priestesses. They worship magic, right?”

“Basically,” Harry agreed. “According to the Old Ways, as I understand it, all magicals used to worship magic. They actually worshiped Mother Magic, a deity that they believed was the source of all magic and able to bestow blessings or take them away.”

“It wasn’t that long ago it was common,” Charlus’ portrait inserted. “When I was a boy, it was mostly only muggleborns that didn’t properly honor the Great Mother. Dumbledore and his ilk were pushing to remove all the teachings and worship from Hogwarts when I attended. They claimed the Old Ways were mere superstition. That they encouraged the isolation of muggleborns. It wasn’t until after he became headmaster that the changes really started happening,” the painting sighed sadly. “Unfortunately, most purebloods didn’t realize the danger then. We still taught our children at home, after all. It wouldn’t greatly affect anything to have it taken from Hogwarts. Most of us didn’t care all that much for the ignorance of the muggleborns.

“We were shortsighted, unfortunately. Dumbledore knew what he was doing. Each generation to pass through Hogwarts has become more ignorant and irreverent than the last. Only the staunchest purebloods still produce children with a proper respect for magic. The Weasleys, the Longbottoms, the Bones, the Prewetts, even the Potters have succumbed to the man’s foul preachings in the last two or three generations.”

“ _Is_ there a proper reason to worship Mother Magic?” Acacia asked after a moment of silence.

Charlus sighed sadly, “You will understand at the funeral, if you let yourself. A proper ritual to Mother Magic, such as the one the priestess will perform at the funeral, it harnesses the most ancient and powerful magicks in the world. If you really let yourself feel it — connect to it — you will understand. It is impossibly greater than the magic of any mortal could ever be.

“The popular line these days, according to what I heard from your parents, is to call it Earth Magic. As though it is simply pulled from the cold, dead ground like coal or iron for our use. But it is so much more than that. It is the source of our magic. It is to that source that we return upon our death. There are rituals that help our magic to grow and to come to our call more readily. In proper households, the first ritual takes place when a child turns one that helps immature magic to grow. A second occurs on or about the eleventh birthday, as a child’s magic becomes ready for conscious use. The ritual helps an adolescent’s magic to grow and remain stable. There is a final ritual that takes place with the coming of age. It helps newly maturing magic to settle and be at peace.

“Your parents elected not to use these rituals. Your mother never had them and it never hurt her, which she took to be proof that they did no real good,” he scowled at that. “One cannot measure such a thing without being able to go back in time and try it both ways on the same subject. It is likely your mother would have been considerably more magically impressive had she had the rituals performed for her, but she did not want to hear it.”

“So our magic was damaged?” Acacia asked with alarm.

“Not damaged,” Charlus corrected more gently, “It merely has not been allowed to reach it’s full potential. I highly recommend that you receive your eleventh year ritual, Acacia. And Harry, your magic has matured, so you can only receive the last, but you should do it soon.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. I don’t suppose you know how to get into contact with a suitable priestess for the funeral or the rituals?”

“I do not,” Charlus frowned. “With the political upheaval of the years since my death, I could not say with any certainty that they may yet be reached in the same manner. It is likely they’ve had to become more discrete due to new ministry restrictions. Everything has become so polarized since Voldemort began moving against the ministry. Propaganda has made all he stands for evil rather than just some of his methods.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully and wondered who he might question about this. The goblins, maybe. They were pretty neutral politically. Though House Potter was now politically aligned with the Dark, Harry had always worked hard to keep himself distant from the Dark, so he didn’t feel he was well enough acquainted with anyone who might be able to answer his question.

He didn’t have long to ponder on it before Sori popped into the room with a bow. “Master Potions Master Severus Snape be here to see you, Master Harry,” she announced.

Harry felt his heart jump into higher gear at the implications of that statement. He knew the man was a spy. According to mum, Snape had been Dumbledore’s spy. According to dad, the man was more likely Voldemort’s. Harry had never known which to believe, which made his presence here all the more alarming.

“Clear the dishes, then show him in,” Harry replied, sitting up straighter and trying to appear less nervous than he was. Rationally, Snape was more likely to be Voldemort’s spy, he supposed. He’d seen firsthand the way that Voldemort left nothing to chance in determining that Harry wouldn’t betray him. He could only guess that the Dark Lord was even more thorough when it came to his spy. Unless Snape was legitimately so good as to fool the Dark Lord, which wasn’t impossible. It was unlikely though.

Before he could fret any further, Snape swept into the room. His dark eyes touched on Harry behind the desk, then Acacia on the settee near the fireplace, then swept over the books still spread over the desk, the ones Harry had been using to research funeral rites.

Harry got the uneasy feeling that Snape had just deduced more about Harry and Acacia’s mental states and what they’d been doing since their parents’ deaths than should have been possible. Harry didn’t know Snape all that well despite the man having been his teacher for four years. In class, he taught with a brisk efficiency that demanded total focus. He tended to favor Slytherins over the other houses in disputes, but all the heads of houses did that to some degree. Harry knew the man had long been friends with his mum despite a falling out when they’d been in school. Snape turning spy had rekindled their friendship, but dad and Sirius’ hatred of the man had ensured Snape rarely came by the house.

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry greeted as neutrally as he could manage.

“Potter,” the man gave a small nod as he retrieved a scroll from an inner pocket. “The Dark Lord has sent me to see that you sign this contract.”

Harry couldn’t help but taking a bracing breath as he reached out to accept the scroll. “Have a seat,” he offered the professor politely. “Would you like tea?”

Severus hesitated briefly before inclining his head. “It would be appreciated.”

Harry quickly called for a house-elf to bring them tea, then opened the scroll and started to read. The language wasn’t overly complicated and he didn’t feel the need to summon his solicitor to be sure he was understanding it. That was slightly surprising, actually. He’d have more expected the Dark Lord to use twisty language to hide loopholes or conceal the nastier bits until it was too late.

It ensured that the House of Potter would owe allegiance to Lord Voldemort so long as Harry should live. It guaranteed that Acacia Potter would be safe from any deliberate harm and that Lord Voldemort would attempt to prevent her from coming to accidental harm due to his actions or those of his followers so long as she attended Hogwarts.

It then went on to stipulate what would be expected of Harry and House Potter under their alliance. Harry would be expected to pay a tithe equal to fifty percent of his monthly income or a minimum of five hundred galleons each month. When he took his seat on the Wizengamot, he would be expected to vote in line with Dark principles or as directed if he was specifically ordered on anything. He would be expected to openly support the Dark families and ideals socially and professionally.

There was, as with most magical contracts, some room for stretch. For example, so long as he honestly believed that he was holding to the tenants and that he was honestly taking every opportunity to do so, magic would not take him to task for what the other party may perceive as a failure on his part.

He would be expected to answer any summons from the Dark Lord in as timely a manner as he was capable. Should the need ever arise, he would be expected to defend the Dark and it’s interests physically and magically, meaning he’d be expected to take measures to protect a known Death Eater that was under attack, for example.

“Are you authorized to negotiate any of these points?” Harry inquired when he was finished reading.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, though in surprise or disdain or something else, Harry couldn’t tell. The man was disturbingly inscrutable. “I am,” he allowed, then glanced toward Acacia. “Perhaps we should speak privately, however.”

Acacia sat up straight, indignation written across her face.

Harry offered her a small smile and a shake of his head for Snape. “Her life is impacted by this contract as well. She should be privy to it.”

Snape didn’t press the matter. “Which part do you wish to negotiate?”

And so the next two hours were spent quibbling over fine points that may, in fact, greatly impact Harry and Acacia’s lives in the future.

In the end, they added the qualification that Harry need never act in such a way as to openly incriminate himself, his family, or his House. So if a Death Eater was dueling aurors in front of him, he may discretely lend aid, but need not do anything likely to get him arrested.

Harry also managed to get a concession that he would never be expected to directly take part in any action intended to hurt or kill people. He had no interest in ever being part of a raid that killed every last baby in the house.

He also managed to haggle the tithe down to thirty percent of his monthly income or a minimum of one thousand galleons a month. It would cost him more to begin with, but he fully intended to have a large monthly income in the future and fifty percent of it would have been far more than a thousand galleons a month.

Yes, it was a slight gamble because there was no guarantee he’d manage to make so much in the future, but he was pretty confident. He had enough wealth to invest, with Griphook’s advice, that he thought he’d manage well in the years to come. And that wasn’t counting any wage he eventually earned after graduation.

He also ensured that his allegiance to Voldemort would only last so long as Voldemort upheld the philosophy for which he currently fought. He’d offered the House of Potter to Voldemort’s cause and that is all he was willing to give. If the man were tomorrow to decide that he really stood for something entirely different than he’d always preached, it would free Harry of the contract.

Of course, given magic, this was accomplished without an exhaustive description of Voldemort’s current cause or what Harry considered a severe enough change to break the contract. The magic would ensure that Harry truly felt Voldemort had betrayed his own principles before it would release him.

They changed a few other minor bits of wording to make it easier for Harry to meet the demands.

Harry wasn’t getting all that much in exchange for this alliance, admittedly. It was a bit like “protection money” for the muggle mob that he’d read about in one of his mum’s novels at one point. The difference, of course, was that this was for a cause that he actually believed in. He wanted to see the Dark prevail in this war. The Light was horrifically corrupt and oppressive and terribly hypocritical about it all.

He did hope that Voldemort would fix the problems in their world rather than just becoming the other side of the corrupt and oppressive coin, but that was really out of his hands. An alliance with Voldemort ensured their family’s survival at this point. That was more than anyone else could offer and the least Harry could accept.

Even Charlus seemed content with the final product and Harry signed it with only mild and unavoidable reservations.

Harry was allowed to keep the contract as there was a linked duplicate for Voldemort to sign and retain.

“Sir,” Harry called before Snape could leave the office.

The man paused and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Would you know of a priestess I might contact for the funeral?” he wondered.

Snape actually blinked once in apparent surprise and he studied Harry for a long moment before nodding. “Floo call Gaia’s Menagerie. It’s a small temple that operates off Knockturn Alley.”

“Thank you,” Harry said in relief, quickly making a note of the floo address.

“You mean to give her a proper funeral?” Snape asked quietly.

Harry met his eyes and saw the pain in them. Spy or not, Harry didn’t doubt the man had genuinely cared for his mum. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I know they’d not have liked it, but as Lord Potter, it’s my duty to do what I feel is best for House Potter. Properly sending on their souls and interring their bodies fits that criteria.”

The suggestion of a smile touched Snape’s pale lips, “You honor your house,” was all he said before leaving without another word.

Harry wondered if that had hurt the man to say given his animosity toward James.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Merlin, he was tired.

“It’s real now,” Acacia’s quiet words drew him to look at her. She looked more sober than any child her age should. “We’re allied to Voldemort.”

Harry nodded. “The lesser of two evils.”

She gave that a moment of thought, then nodded as well.

Harry glanced at the clock standing against the far wall, then dragged himself to his feet. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed. We’ll call the temple in the morning.”

Acacia wrapped herself around his arm again and went to her room only long enough to get ready for bed before joining him in his. She promptly curled herself into a ball with her forehead pressed against his shoulder and fell asleep.

Harry smiled fondly at her before turning out the lights with a wave of his wand. Tomorrow would be another busy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I unexpectedly ended up with today off and decided you all should benefit from my good fortune. You're welcome. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, in the spirit of fanfiction, please feel free to write your own stories as inspired by any of mine. You can use my concepts, conventions, OCs, premises, or even just branch off an AU. So long as you're not copying my work word-for-word, go crazy.
> 
> _Do not, however, post my work to other sites, even if you are crediting me. The only payment I receive for my stories is in comments and kudos and such. If people are reading my work on sites I don't even know about under someone else's account, then I am being robbed of my only form of remuneration. **DON'T DO IT. IT'S MEAN.** If you find my work posted on any site besides this one and fanfiction.net, please report it and inform me of these meanies._


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